


In gardens all wet with rain

by hollyanneg



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Childhood Friends, M/M, Masked ball, it can't be anachronistic if there's no time period, love letters (kinda?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24974842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyanneg/pseuds/hollyanneg
Summary: In a land where magic is real, Ronan spends most of his time hiding from it in the palace gardens, where he’d once met a boy who could tell the future. There’s love letters, a masquerade ball, and an evil plot to be foiled.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 24
Kudos: 138
Collections: TRC Big Bang 2020





	In gardens all wet with rain

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to my artists [warsawsubwayclub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/warsawsubwayclub) and [sneakygeit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneakygeit) who really saved me at the last minute!
> 
> I’m STILL wondering what was up with Ashley 1 in TRB, so here’s one potential explanation I guess?

Ronan was 10 the first time he spent the night in the gardens.

See, the thing was, he had a point to prove.

His mother had recently found him a companion. She thought he ought to be around other magical children his age, and she had discovered that their thoroughly unmagical gardener had a magical son.

The boy’s name was Adam, and he was a soothsayer. There were four types of magical people in Ronan’s realm: day conjurers, who created things with their words; night conjurers, who created things with their thoughts; healers, who could cure any malady; and soothsayers, who could see the future.

Ronan, prone to being contrary, asked for proof as soon as he met Adam. Adam held his hand and said, “You’re going to break your arm tomorrow.”

Ronan scoffed, but the next day, he fell out of a tree while attempting to prove that he could climb higher than his brothers. After that, he and Adam were best friends.

But Adam was also contrary and insisted on seeing proof of Ronan’s magical abilities, too. Ronan was a night conjurer, and it was broad daylight when Adam asked him about it. “I can’t do anything right _now,_ ” he said.

"That’s a handy excuse,” said Adam.

Ronan protested—there were plenty of other night conjurers, including his father, and none of them could do magic in the daytime.

That’s why Ronan spent the night in the gardens.

He snuck out once he was sure that his brothers were asleep and no one was guarding his room. The gardens behind the palace stretched out long, filled with orange trees and reflecting pools and trellises hung with vines. A covered bridge stretched over part of the gardens, connecting two wings of the palace, and at intervals along the bridge were grottoes where you could stop to rest and or to get out of the sun. Hardly anyone used them. This is where he’d promised to meet Adam.

They found each other just after midnight, and Ronan said, “Okay, what do you want me to make?”

Adam thought about it and said, “Make me seeds. Something for me to plant that doesn’t already grow in the gardens.”

“A flower, or a bush, or a tree?” Ronan asked.

Adam said a tree, but one that wouldn’t grow too large and overshadow the others. So Ronan stretched out on a bench in one of the grottoes and went to sleep.

He awoke frozen as always, not sure how much time had passed, holding a tiny bag. Adam was sitting on the other side of the grotto, wide-eyed. “You did make something,” he said.

"I told you I would,” said Ronan. When he could move again, he sat up and handed the bag to Adam. “Are there seeds inside?”

Adam checked and nodded. “What kind are they?”

“It’s supposed to be witch-hazel,” said Ronan.

Adam smiled. Whenever he _really_ smiled, it was so broad and captivating that it caught Ronan off-guard. “So we won’t really know until it’s grown. It’ll be like a mystery.”

“Normally I take what I mean to take out of dreams.” But Ronan liked the idea of a mystery, too.

Adam planted two of the seeds at the very back of the gardens the next day, and the two boys kept watch over them all summer, watering them every day and waiting for them to sprout. Which they did, eventually, but by autumn they still didn’t really look like anything but sticks. “We’ll see what happens next year,” said Adam.

But by the next summer, Adam was gone. He left without saying goodbye, and no one ever talked about it or said what happened. Ronan was back to being the only magical child at the court.

-

When Ronan was 17, he slept in the gardens almost every night, because sleeping inside had become impossible. He felt claustrophobic inside; everything had gotten smaller since his father’s death. It felt safer to dream there, too. He tried not to let out any of the monsters that had started appearing in nearly every dream, but he figured if one did get out, the garden was a better place for it than the palace.

It was summer, and when he wasn’t dreaming of monsters, he dreamed of birds. Dream-Ronan lay on the ground in some unknown place and watched them flutter above him, freer than he was.

He woke up with a baby raven sitting on his chest, squawking for food.

-

One day that summer, he got a package. He never got mail. Not usually. He didn’t recognize the sender’s address, and they hadn’t written their name, only A.P.

But he tore it open anyway, curious, hoping it wouldn’t be from some random nobleperson that Declan wanted him to marry (Declan being in charge of the entire kingdom was the second worst thing that had happened when their father died. The first being the death, of course).

Inside was a book called _Tales of Other Worlds_ and a folded-up letter. The letter began _Dear Ronan_. Ronan was never, ever not addressed as ‘Prince,’ and he was ridiculously pleased at the informality.

It continued:

_I don’t know if you will remember me. My name is Adam, and I used to live at the palace. I was the gardener’s son. I remember you well, and when I read this book, I thought of you. There’s a story about a boy who conjures light, and it reminded me of the baubles you dreamed up for us to hang in the witch-hazel tree once it was tall enough. I hope it’s thriving now, and I hope you enjoy the book._

_Regards,_

_Adam Parrish_

Ronan obviously did remember him. He’d thought of the soothsayer boy often over the past few years. He’d wondered if the boy had a second superpower—growing things—because the palace gardens had never been so beautiful as when Adam was helping tend them. He’d wished that Adam was still around, because his mother and brothers didn’t understand about being magical.

Ronan didn’t read very often—too restless—but he hid himself away in one of the grottoes that same day to read Adam’s book. The boy in the story wasn’t anything like Ronan. Even on the page, even in words, he had a sort of brightness to him that Ronan had probably never had, and certainly didn’t have now. The boy in the book was charming and clever and won the heart of the noble lady he loved by conjuring light for her.

(Ronan didn’t want to win any lady’s heart, but he wouldn’t mind winning someone’s, someday.)

(He wondered if this was how Adam remembered him. Blithe and glowing. Maybe so—Ronan’s younger self had been a lot happier, at least.)

He went back to his room and wrote Adam a letter.

_Dear Parrish,_

_I remember you just fine. Thanks for the book. I read it this afternoon, and I don’t think the boy in the story is very much like me, but it’s sort of gratifying to know that you remember the string of lights I dreamed. I don’t have them anymore, or else I would have put them in the witch-hazel. It’s 10 feet tall now, and I water it myself. I don’t let the new gardener have anything to do with it, because it’s just mine and yours._

Ronan decided that was enough vulnerability for one day, so he signed it and addressed it and sent it off.

-

A week passed. Ronan hadn’t necessarily expected a response to that letter—what else was there to say?—but he was a little disappointed not to get one, anyway.

He was sitting and brooding about it in his room one day—he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, go outside, because it was raining. There was a little ~POP next to his right ear, and Noah appeared, sitting on Ronan’s rarely-used desk. Ronan jumped. “For fuck’s sake, warn a guy,” he said.

“How’m I supposed to warn you? I wasn’t even here before,” said Noah cheerfully.

Noah was the palace ghost, some ancient prince who’d been murdered in a struggle for power. Noah had never struck Ronan as the power-hungry type. As ghosts went, he was pretty affable and unobtrusive. He was, oddly, one of Ronan’s closest friends. Ronan tried not to think about that too much, because it was a little pathetic.

Noah could sometimes read Ronan’s mind. After Ronan yelled at him about it for the twelfth time, he asked if Noah had been a soothsayer when he was alive. He said no, mind-reading must just be a ghost thing.

And he did it again. “So you’re brooding about your letter?”

Ronan glared at him. “I’m not _brooding.”_

“That’s what it looks like,” said Noah, still smiling. He was surprisingly distinct for a ghost—his coloring and his clothes and even the wound he’d died from were still visible. Ronan tried not to look at the wound too much. “You’re very good at brooding,” Noah added.

“I’m just bored,” said Ronan, which was truer than the first thing he’d said. “That letter was the only interesting thing that’s happened in ages.”

“Write him again,” Noah suggested.

“Why would I do that?”

Noah shrugged. “Because you want to talk to him.” Like it was that simple.

But in the end, it was, because another letter came the next day.

_Dear Ronan,_

_(Do I need to be addressing you differently?)_

 _I_ _’m very pleased to hear that the witch-hazel has grown and that you’re taking care of it. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with it, either._

_About the book, maybe I’m just remembering you wrong. It’s been a long time._

_I don’t really have much to say, but I felt like replying to you anyway. I’m curious about you—I can’t believe I was ever friends with a prince, which is not a judgement on you… I’m curious about life at the palace these days. What is it like? A bit different from when I was there, I imagine. I won’t say ‘sorry for your loss’—you’re probably tired of hearing that—but I’m sure it was difficult for you. I remember how close you were with your father._

_I hope you’re well._

_Regards,_

_Adam_

Ronan hid this letter from himself as soon as he’d finished reading it, because he didn’t want to read it again. He was not well. Not at all. Declan would be the first to say so.

Ronan felt trapped. He hardly ever went anywhere outside the palace walls. He felt like he was going to blow apart from the need to expel all his excess energy, which was mostly born of grief and anger.

Yes, he missed his father desperately.

But he forced that part of the letter out of his head and went around all day thinking _maybe I’m remembering you wrong._

He couldn’t believe Adam was thinking about him at all.

Instead of rereading that letter, he stared at the first one for a long time before Noah appeared, leaning over Ronan’s left shoulder and saying, “He lives in town. Your correspondent.”

“I know,” said Ronan.

“We should go see him,” said Noah.

“Can you even go anywhere?” Ronan asked, just to be petty.

“Can you?” said Noah.

-

To prove that he could, Ronan snuck out the next day. Strictly speaking, he didn’t need to sneak. He could go into town if he wanted to, but he was expected to take a guard with him, which made him more conspicuous than he wanted to be, and he was supposed to ask permission first. His mother had become too emotionally absent to give it, and Ronan refused to ask Declan’s permission for anything (but sometimes he let Gansey ask for him).

Since Noah wasn’t around, he took Gansey with him to town. Gansey was prince of the neighboring kingdom, and he kept extending his stay for “diplomacy reasons.” He really stayed because he was deeply immersed in researching the history of Ronan’s country, and because he’d grown a bit attached to Ronan, for whatever reason.

He didn’t tell Gansey where they were going or why, and for once Gansey didn’t ask questions. He probably knew how badly Ronan needed to go somewhere.

They wandered through the narrow streets of the oldest part of the town, looking for the address on Adam’s letter. They found it tucked off in an even tinier alley. 300 Fox Way. It was a shop with rooms above where the proprietor surely lived. The hand-painted window sign said MAGIC SHOP: fortunes & potions. “This can’t be right,” Ronan muttered, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he was wrong. Adam was probably responsible for the fortunes part of the business. It seemed like a cheap way to use his skill—but then, Ronan didn’t know what it was like to have to make a living.

They went inside. The walls were lined with shelves, each one loaded down with bundles of herbs and bottles of suspicious-looking liquids. There was a little desk at the back where a girl sat reading. She looked up as they approached. Ronan could see Gansey’s interest piquing, and he could see that the girl was not equally enthralled with them. But she said, “Can I help you?”

He didn’t like the look she was giving him, like she’d noticed his expensive clothes and already disliked him for them. “I’m looking for Adam,” he said. Short. To the point. She didn’t have to know why.

“He isn’t here,” she said brusquely.

“What if I pay more than the usual rate?” he asked, even though it annoyed him to play into exactly what this girl obviously thought of him.

“He still won’t be here,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He’s making a house call. Are you here to have your fortune told? Because we have other people who do that.”

He definitely didn’t want his fortune told, but especially not by someone other than Adam.

Gansey came up behind him and said, “People who read the future? That sounds fascinating.”

“What did you expect in a magic shop?” the girl asked. Still so not impressed with them.

Before Ronan could say anything else—along the lines of _no fortune telling please_ —a door behind the girl opened and a woman floated out, all long white hair and large black eyes. A little terrifying despite her serene expression. “Persephone,” said the girl, “these boys want their fortunes told.”

The serene woman looked at Ronan and said, “Yes, I remember. You won’t see what you want behind the mask it wears. It would be wise to look a little more carefully.”

 _Unhelpful,_ Ronan thought, and he didn’t really believe that she knew anything about what he wanted. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll come back another day.”

“You’re still paying for that,” said the girl fiercely.

But the woman—Persephone—squeezed her shoulder and said, “Not today.”

So Ronan and Gansey went back to the palace with only that. _You won’t see what you want…_

Ronan didn’t go to the shop again. He’d lost the urge. What had he expected to happen, anyway? He wrote Adam back instead and confessed.

_I went to your shop the other day. I knew the address from your letters. I met someone named Persephone who gave me an unspecific prediction for my future, and a fierce girl who really hated my friend and me, I think._

_You want to know about life at the palace? It’s more boring than ever. Everyone is in bad moods all the time, including me. Most of all me. It’s probably better if you just remember me as the boy from the book._

 _B_ _ut basically, the daily routine is that every morning I study with some bullshit tutors that my brother insists on, and in the afternoon, if I’m allowed to go out, I go riding with the friend I mentioned. We race on the riverbanks, by the Gold Tower, if you know where that is. If I’m not allowed to go anywhere, which is usually the case, I sit in the gardens and try not to die of having nothing to do. It’s a thrilling life._

Adam replied faster this time:

_Blue (my friend, the fierce girl) told me that two boys our age had come to the shop looking for me. I guess that must have been you and your friend? I’m sorry I wasn’t there. It would have been interesting to see you again. I don’t care if you’re different now. I am, too._

_I_ _’m surprised there isn’t anything to do at the palace besides lessons and gardening. You could go gossip with the courtiers—or better yet, with the servants. Their gossip was always more interesting. Or join one of Sir Milo’s card games. They were always contentious. That’d liven up your days a bit._

_I do know the Gold Tower. I’m sure the riverbanks are an excellent spot to race, but I like them better as a place to take a nap under the shade trees, on the rare days when I’m not working._

The Gold Tower was an old lookout point, built during some war. Ronan liked to climb it. The next five times he went there, he looked for boys sleeping under the nearby trees, but he never saw any.

-

Meanwhile, his brother was engaged. Ronan was under the impression that Declan couldn’t love anything or anyone, but he wasn’t marrying for love, so it didn’t matter. He wasn’t marrying some foreign princess, either, but someone called Ashley who was from a rich local family, powerful and politically useful. It was disgusting. Ronan was tired of hearing about all the wedding plans and was highly displeased that he was supposed to be a part of the ceremony. He hated being stared at.

The only thing he hated more than Declan and being stared at was balls, so of course they were having one of those too. At least it was a masked ball. That meant fewer people fawning over him, hoping to gain royal favor. Maybe no one would recognize him at all. He’d shaved off all his hair. He looked different than before.

When he wrote to Adam again, he complained about the wedding and the ball and before he could stop himself, he wrote, _it’d be more fun if you came_.

Adam replied:

_I’m sure I’m too insignificant to be invited to a royal ball. I can see that you live a difficult life, being in weddings and dancing at balls. It’s heinous, really, what they expect of you._

Maybe Ronan should’ve minded being mocked, but he found he didn’t at all.

Adam continued:

_Here’s a story to cheer you up a bit. A lady came into the shop yesterday wanting her fortune told, and when I took her hand, I saw her getting married, which of course is exactly what they usually want to hear, but in the vision she was wearing the most awful, ridiculous hairstyle I’ve ever seen—it looked like a poodle—and I came out of my trance laughing. She was quite offended._

_I don’t think I’ve told you before, but sometimes I have visions spontaneously, which is different than having one when somebody has directly asked me to look into their future. I had one this morning in which I saw the palace gardens at night. I was standing in one of the grottoes, like the night you conjured the witch-hazel seeds, and I had the impression that I was looking for something, but I don’t know what. Any ideas?_

Ronan wrote back and tried to sound equally mocking, but he knew it fell flat a bit. _Maybe you had come to the ball after all and were looking for your true love, like everyone else there will be._

Noah, who was reading over his shoulder again, gave him a knowing look that Ronan hated.

In that letter, Ronan asked something he’d been wondering for a while. _Why did your family leave the palace? I hated being the only magical child around after you left. Everyone’s always asking questions about it and discussing how to make sure the traits are ‘passed to the next generation,’ and I always tell them there won’t be a next generation, because I’m not having kids. Whether I do or don’t, it’s fun to shock people._

Adam said:

_You can’t shock me, Ronan. I’m entirely unsurprised that you enjoy being scandalous._

_I never wanted to tell you why my family left the palace, but since you asked, the truth is that my father had been stealing from various courtiers and got caught. We were turned out in disgrace._

_But I don’t live with my parents anymore or talk to them. They apprenticed me out to a magician—money changed hands—but he was a fraud, no actual power. My friend’s family rescued me and brought me to work in their shop, the one you visited. I’m much better off here than at home._

Ronan hid this letter from himself too, so he wouldn’t have to think too much about Adam’s horrible parents or _you can’t shock me_ , as if Adam knew him well. As if he’d looked into Ronan’s mind again like he did when they were children. God only knew what he’d find there.

There was a certain perverse pleasure in feeling known, however.

-

He was, unfortunately, not just required to attend the ball but also to look decent for it. Declan didn’t consider any of Ronan’s clothes decent, which meant long, dull fittings for a new suit. The ball was supposed to be a masquerade, and when someone came to make Ronan’s mask, they asked what he wanted to be.

What a complicated question.

He looked at his baby raven, who was thriving after a month living outside his head.

“I want to be a raven,” he said. So he ended up with an elaborate, feathered mask with a long beak. It was every bit as disconcerting as he’d hoped.

-

When he’d had enough time to think about it, he wrote Adam back. He didn’t reference Adam’s parents at all, just said, _since you’re friends with a prince, if you ever need someone “taken care of,” just let me know._

A week passed, and Adam didn’t reply, so Ronan figured he had once again managed to be offensive without even trying. (A lot of times he _was_ trying. But not that time. Not with Adam.)

-

He was required to attend the ball, but he hadn’t been given any instructions on what to do once he was there. He knew how to dance—his mother had insisted that all three boys learn—but he didn’t particularly care for it. He found a spot in a corner of the ballroom where he was partially hidden behind a fern. He stood and watched everyone else and nursed a glass of whatever fruity alcohol Ashley had picked out for the occasion.

No one recognized him except his brothers. Eventually Matthew came over to bug him. “There’s someone here that Declan wants you to meet. He said their family has a lot of connections.”

Of course the deeper meaning of this went over Matthew’s head. He was as jolly and careless as ever. The deeper meaning was that Declan was still trying to marry him off. “I’ll find them later,” Ronan said, because he wasn’t going to take out his frustration on Matthew.

Matthew drifted away after a bit, and Ronan started thinking about how to escape the ball. He’d been there for a couple of hours. Surely that was enough.

As soon as he saw a chance, he went straight to the gardens, of course. Tonight, they weren’t empty. Couples strolled through them in the moonlight. Ronan tried to avoid them. He walked all the way to the farthest wall of the gardens, approaching his witch-hazel tree just in time to watch someone jump out of it and disappear into the shadows.

That was a lot more interesting than anything else that had happened that night. So Ronan followed the figure.

Whoever it was crept along the western wall, well-hidden if you didn’t know to look for them. They made their way up towards the palace. When the lights from inside began to reveal more about them, Ronan could tell it was a young man dressed in court clothes, as if he were attending the ball. But he headed towards a mostly-hidden side door that servants used.

 _Interesting,_ Ronan thought. He rushed to catch up with the man before he could go inside. Ronan grabbed him from behind and said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

He assumed he’d caught a would-be thief or something. He still couldn’t tell much about this man, but his eyes were wide behind the mask he wore. “Excuse me,” he said in a decidedly local accent. “I’ve just gotten a little lost. Are you a guard? Could you show me the way back to the ballroom?”

“I would,” said Ronan, “except that I just watched you jump out of a tree, and that makes me think you somehow climbed over the back wall to get into the gardens.”

The man didn’t say anything.

“Should I turn you over to the princes?” Ronan asked, because it was fun to pretend that _the princes_ didn’t include him.

“In fact, if you could deliver a message to one of them for me, I’d leave,” said the man.

“I’m not letting you leave,” said Ronan. The guy was obviously up to no good. “But what’s the message?”

Putting on a lofty tone, which didn’t really suit a thief, the man said, “Do you have a direct line of reportage to the princes?” Ronan just grunted. “I assume that’s a yes? But I can’t give this message to just anyone. It’s delicate.”

“I’m a friend of the princes,” said Ronan.

“Who?” The man sounded suspicious and annoyed and somehow seemed to think he had the upper hand.

“I’m Gansey,” said Ronan, because that was much funnier than pretending to be a guard (and why would a guard be dressed for the ball, anyway?). “If you don’t give me the message right now, I’m turning you in as a trespasser.”

“Gansey?” said the man. “The Prince of Henrietta? You speak our language remarkably well.”

“Thanks,” said Ronan. Gansey _did_ speak it well.

“All right,” said the man, apparently convinced. “I’m a soothsayer, and I’ve had a vision that someone is trying to poison the eldest prince.”

“Declan?”

“Yes. And this person was apparently also connected to the late king’s death.”

The world tilted a little. In his shock, Ronan let go of the man, who fortunately didn’t run away. He had always known that his father’s death wasn’t an accident, but having someone else confirm that made it so much realer.

“I came to try to stop it,” said the soothsayer. “Or at least to warn someone.”

“Who’s trying to poison him?” Ronan asked.

Gravely, the soothsayer said, “According to my vision, it’s his betrothed.”

“That’s a hell of an accusation,” said Ronan, forgetting to sound authoritative.

“I know. I don’t expect you to believe me straight away. In my vision, I saw her putting something in his cup. It was only a little—I believe she means to kill him slowly.”

“But why?” There was nothing like hearing about a murder plot against Declan to make Ronan realize that maybe he didn’t hate Declan after all.

“For power,” said the soothsayer, as if it were obvious. “She’ll make sure she’s pregnant before he dies. She’ll position herself as regent to the new heir. She and those she serves will rule the kingdom.”

“Shit,” said Ronan.

“I don’t know if she means to begin tonight,” said the soothsayer, “but in the vision, it looked as though she _might_ be at the ball. I thought, if only I could get the cup away from him, I could test it—I have a potion I can drop into the cup that’ll change the color of the drink if there’s poison in it. If you can help me get the cup, we can prove or disprove all this.”

“Unless she hasn’t started yet,” Ronan pointed out.

“If that’s so, at least someone here will know about it and can watch for signs.” The most convincing thing about all this was how serious the soothsayer sounded. Either he was a great actor, or he really thought someone was trying to kill Declan.

“Fine,” said Ronan. “I’ll get the cup.”

Reluctantly, he went inside and made his way back to the ballroom. The soothsayer followed. “Just wait for me somewhere,” Ronan told him.

“No,” said the soothsayer, which he would never have said if he really knew who he was talking to. “I came here with a mission, and I’m going to see it through.”

“Fine, whatever.” He stalked back into the ballroom and pushed his way through the crowd, heading straight for the table on the dais, where Declan and Ashley, had been sitting. No point in wasting time.

They were still there, deep in conversation with the Duke of So-and-So. Gansey was with them too, and he looked up when he saw Ronan coming. “Where did you get off to?” he asked. “I was looking for you.”

“Just taking a little stroll in the gardens,” said Ronan. The soothsayer hovered behind him awkwardly, and he could feel the moment when the soothsayer noticed what Ronan already had. Declan didn’t have a cup.

He was looking at Ronan too, annoyed to have his conversation interrupted. They locked eyes, and Declan said, “Did you need something?”

“A word,” said Ronan. “Privately.” The soothsayer was going to need to demonstrate his skills really well, because Declan wasn’t going to believe anything Ronan said.

“I’m occupied,” said Declan. “And I’m not leaving my own engagement ball. It can wait.”

“It can’t,” said Ronan.

“It has to.”

Ashley leaned forward and smiled at Ronan sweetly. “I haven’t seen you dance at all tonight,” she said. “You must not be having any fun.”

Declan was frowning and staring at the soothsayer. “Who’s this?” he asked.

“He’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Ronan.

Then there was an entirely new look in Declan’s eyes. The annoyance was still there, still directed at Ronan’s uncouthness, but paired with a strange light, something like realization. “Maybe he’ll dance with you, then,” said Declan. “We can talk tomorrow.”

 _Tomorrow might be too late,_ thought Ronan. But maybe not. Not if she was planning on killing him slowly. “Fine,” he said. He ignored Gansey’s questioning look. He turned and offered his hand to the soothsayer. They walked out on the floor and got swept up among all the other couples.

“Is this really necessary?” the soothsayer asked.

“Don’t wanna dance with me?” They already were. “Am I not pretty enough?”

“Stop being a shit,” said the soothsayer, and Ronan decided he liked this man immensely. “We’re wasting time.”

“He didn’t have a cup, so what can we do?” He had to practically speak into the man’s ear to be heard above the din of music and voices. “I’ll check again later to see if he has one.”

The soothsayer didn’t really seem satisfied, but he didn’t say anything else. They kept dancing. Ronan snuck glances at his partner and thought that whoever it was, he had incredibly beautiful hands. Long-fingered, large-knuckled, solid, and a little rough against Ronan’s skin. He glanced up at the man’s face. Blue eyes, sun-darkened skin, and sandy hair. He was altogether nice to look at.

Ronan let himself, for a moment, pretend that it was Adam. He only had the vaguest memory of what Adam looked like, so anyone could be him. And he was a soothsayer, after all.

But Ronan didn’t entertain that thought very long, so he wouldn’t be too disappointed when it wasn’t true. The odds that his pen pal and the object of his secret desires (well, secret to everyone but Noah) would be the same person he was dancing with seemed very slim. Soothsaying might not be a common gift, but that didn’t mean Adam was the only one around.

The song ended, and Ronan didn’t let go. He didn’t love dancing, but what else was there to do to kill time? The fact that the man was attractive had nothing to do with it. Obviously.

But the soothsayer took his hands back and said, “Surely one dance is enough to satisfy her,” and walked away. Ronan followed. What else was he going to do?

They sat along the wall with the other people who weren’t dancing. The soothsayer was quiet, watching everything. “Have you ever been to court before?” Ronan asked. It was a lot to take in if you hadn’t.

“Yes,” said the soothsayer, and that was it.

Ronan tried again. “Do you have a name?”

“Do you?” The soothsayer shot him an annoyed look. “I’m starting to think you aren’t really Gansey.”

“Declan knew me. You saw that.”

“He knew you, and he didn’t seem to like you. You said you were the princes’ friend.”

“I’m the middle prince’s friend,” Ronan mumbled.

“Ronan?” said the soothsayer, and suddenly he sounded much more interested. Ronan was about to ask him why when he heard that familiar ~POP beside him, and Noah appeared. The soothsayer’s eyes went wide. “A spirit!” he said in a hushed tone. “I’ve never—”

Noah was blinking in and out, the way he did when he was upset. “He has it now! Declan! The cup!”

Ronan didn’t ask how Noah knew—Noah knew everything, and this was the most compelling evidence that the soothsayer was telling the truth.

“Let’s hurry, then,” said the soothsayer. He took Ronan by the elbow and practically dragged him back up to the dais.

Noah was right—there was a new plate of food and two fresh cups of wine sitting in front of Declan and Ashley. They were talking to someone else now, and Gansey was gone. Declan looked up when they approached and said, “What now?”

“I just need these,” said Ronan. He grabbed both glasses of wine and ran. He heard his brother shouting after him, but the sound faded as he ran down the nearest corridor and around a couple of corners. When he stopped abruptly, the soothsayer crashed into him. Ronan barely kept the wine from spilling.

“Keep moving!” said the soothsayer. “Someone was following us.”

“Ashley’s minions probably,” said Ronan.

The soothsayer pulled him by the elbow again. “This way.” In a moment, they were running down a staircase that Ronan was only vaguely familiar with and entering a hallway that led to the kitchens. How did the soothsayer know the palace so well? Ronan didn’t ask.

The soothsayer said, “Where can we go where they won’t find us? We need to test these cups.”

Ronan said, “Let’s go back out to the gardens. I always hide from Declan in the grottoes, and he never thinks to look there.”

So that’s where they went. The soothsayer looked around the bridge and the small space where they’d tucked themselves away and said, “It isn’t quite how I remembered.”

“You’ve been here before?” Ronan was surprised. The palace, okay. But the grottoes? His secret place?

The soothsayer just nodded. “Put those cups on the ground,” he said. He knelt and took off his mask, laying it aside. The grotto was too dark for Ronan to see his features. He took his own mask off, too. It had gotten hot.

The soothsayer hovered over the cups and, taking a small vial of liquid from his pocket, pulled a drop of it in each one. “Now we wait,” he said. “It’ll take a moment for the color to change, if it does.”

“We won’t be able to see it if it does,” said Ronan. He wished he could conjure them a light without having to fall asleep.

“We’ll carry them back outside to check.”

So they waited. The minutes seemed to drag, and the soothsayer didn’t say anything else until, “That should be long enough.” They each picked up a cup and walked a little farther down the bridge, until they came to a window. In the moonlight, Ronan could just make out that the wine in the cup he held had turned greenish. The wine in the other cup hadn’t.

They looked at each other. Ronan said, “Now we have to convince Declan.”

“Do you think he’d speak to you after the ball?” the soothsayer asked.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll wait with you, then.”

They waited in the grotto, and Ronan tried off and on to start a conversation, but that really wasn’t one of his skills, and the soothsayer wasn’t helping him. Finally, Ronan stopped trying to be social and said, “Why do you think Ashley was connected to my—to the late King’s death?”

“I saw the king’s image at the end of my vision. I think that’s what it meant. You know there were always rumors—he had many enemies.”

Ronan gritted his teeth. “But you don’t know _who?”_

He could barely see that the soothsayer was shaking his head. “There were a lot of people in the vision, but I only saw Ashley’s face. I recognized her from the announcements of the prince’s engagement. Perhaps it’s her family’s plot. They’re prominent in town, but they’ve always wanted more power.”

“You’d think marrying a prince would be enough,” Ronan muttered. Who’d want more power than being queen?

“The other princes should be careful of their suitors after all this. You should warn them.” Then, in a different tone of voice, the soothsayer said, “Do you think either of them will marry soon?”

“The other princes?” Ronan wanted to laugh, because avoiding marriage was one of his chief occupations at the moment. “I don’t know. Declan wants them to.”

The soothsayer didn’t respond.

When they heard the distant sounds of the party start to fade, Ronan said, “I guess we could go back now.”

They came back down from the bridge and went in a back door. In the low light of the hallway, he could see all the fine, elegant lines of the soothsayer’s face. The man had never put his mask back on.

Neither had Ronan, and the frustratingly pretty soothsayer was looking at him with interest. “You look remarkably similar to Declan,” he said.

“We’re long lost cousins,” said Ronan.

“Not sure if I believe you,” said the soothsayer. There was a spark in his eyes—a teasing, possibly flirtatious spark.

Ronan had to look away. “We’re wasting time.” He rushed off towards Declan’s rooms.

He was in danger, and it had nothing to do with Ashley and visions and poison.

He went crashing into Declan’s antechamber, only to find his brother with Ashley, holding hands. He looked up at Ronan with his usual frustrated expression, like Ronan had interrupted something important.

There were two cups of wine on the table next to them. “Don’t drink that,” Ronan said, grabbing them.

“Thanks for knocking,” said Declan, and then he turned critical eyes on the soothsayer, who’d finally caught up to Ronan. “And for inviting people to my room. Are you just determined not to let me drink anything tonight?”

“Yes,” said Ronan.

Frowning, Declan said, “Fine. I don’t have time for your games right now. I told you we’d talk tomorrow.”

In one long breath, Ronan blurted, “It can’t wait. Ashley’s poisoning your drinks.”

Declan looked puzzled rather than angry, and there was a tense moment of silence until the soothsayer, perfectly calm, stepped forward holding the original cups of wine and bowed slightly. “Your Highness, I’m a soothsayer. I had a vision of your fiancée putting poison into your drinks, and I came here to warn someone. We tested the two cups of wine we took from you earlier with a potion that detects poison. Your Highness can see that one of the cups of wine has turned green, and the other stayed its original color.” He was so much more formal than he’d been with Ronan all night.

Declan stepped forward and looked down into the cups, still frowning.

“If you please, I’ll test these two as well,” said the soothsayer.

“Ronan, if this is one of your games—”

“Do I look like I’m fucking joking?”

The soothsayer had gone wide-eyed, surprised, maybe at Ronan’s language. Declan said, “Fine, test them.” Ashley went over to a window and watched them impassively.

The soothsayer collected himself dropped some of his potion into the cups and said, “It will take a moment.” Declan came over to watch. And… nothing happened.

After a few minutes, Declan said, “Clearly this is all some kind of hoax.”

“Give it a little more time,” said Ronan. “I swear I saw him do this before and it worked.”

Declan pressed his lips into a firm, disapproving line. But he waited a little more.

And still, nothing.

Finally Declan rolled his eyes and said, “I don’t know what any of this means, but I’ll tell you—” this to the soothsayer—“you’re on dangerous ground, having accused my fiancée of such a thing.”

The soothsayer looked confused more than afraid. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he said. “I swear everything I’ve told you is true. There _was_ poison in your other cup, though I can’t say who put it there. If I’ve falsely accused you, my lady, I apologize.” He bowed to Ashley, and Ronan couldn’t help thinking that he didn’t seem like the same cocky asshole who’d been keeping Ronan company all night. But he was probably trying to save himself.

So Ronan stepped in. He wasn’t going to let the soothsayer get in trouble for this. “I’m not messing with you,” he said to his brother. “The soothsayer really was concerned for you, so I helped him. I guess we went wrong somewhere.”

His brother sighed that deep, put-upon sigh that Ronan had heard so many times. “I’m too tired to deal with this anymore. For accusing my fiancée, you are banned from court,” he said to the soothsayer. “And we’ll talk about this tomorrow, Ronan.”

So they were kicked out, back into the hallway. Noah was hovering outside, like he’d been eavesdropping on everything. “What do you know?” Ronan asked him.

“She’s definitely guilty,” said Noah.

"So what are we gonna do about it?”

“You heard him,” said the soothsayer. “I can’t come back.” He paused, and his tone changed. He looked up with an entirely new expression. Open. Happy, almost. “So you really are Ronan? The middle prince? I thought, maybe…”

“You caught me,” said Ronan, thinking that was really beside the point.

“You haven’t told us your name,” said Noah, with one of his all-knowing smiles.

The soothsayer didn’t respond. There was a long silence. Finally Ronan broke it. “I’ll meet you somewhere,” he said to the soothsayer. “Not here. Somewhere in town, and we can plan what to do next.”

So they worked out a time—the next day at noon—and a place—by the fountain in the market square. Then the soothsayer looked like he might say something else, but in the end he just said goodnight and slipped away, down a servant stairwell, so quietly it was like he’d never been there.

Noah followed Ronan back to his room. “You danced with him!” he said excitedly.

“So what?” Ronan asked. “We were just killing time.”

“You think he’s handsome.” Noah perched on Ronan’s bed and grinned at him.

“I have eyes.” He couldn’t really lie to Noah, but what did it matter, anyway? He went about getting ready for bed. “It’d be nice of you not to haunt me while I’m asleep.”

“I’ll go,” said Noah, breezy. “But I wonder what your dear Adam would say if he knew you were dancing with handsome strangers.”

“I will throw you out the fucking window.”

Noah ~popped back out of sight.

As usual, Ronan didn’t actually sleep. This time, there was a different reason. He couldn’t stop thinking about the soothsayer’s blue eyes—clever eyes that seemed to see and understand everything. Inconveniently distracting.

-

Noah watched Ronan get dressed the next morning and made annoying comments about _wanting to look your best_ , having apparently not learned his lesson the night before. Ronan ignored him and went out into the gardens. They looked different in the morning light, everything soft and rosy and golden, not vaguely sinister like the night before. Nothing could hide here now.

He climbed up the witch-hazel tree, which was barely strong enough to support him, and hoisted himself up the wall just to see if he could. He could. The other side was trickier. The soothsayer must’ve had a rope or something. Ronan made his way down gingerly, using a few uneven bricks as stepping stones. Finally, he jumped down into the alley that ran behind the gardens. From there, he walked into town.

The soothsayer beat Ronan to their meeting place. “I hope you have an idea,” said Ronan instead of hello, “because I’ve got nothing.”

The soothsayer was sitting on the edge of the fountain and leaned back to look at the sky. “I did a reading this morning, and I tried to scry. It yielded some helpful information.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about ways to see the unknown when I’m not actively having a vision. Ashley isn’t the mastermind of this plan—I’m not surprised. It’s her aunt and uncle. The Greenmantles—you know them, don’t you?”

Ronan had heard of them. Colin Greenmantle’s dad had been the mayor or something. They were obscenely rich, but not of noble blood. “They’re social-climbers,” he said.

“Exactly. So what could be better than marrying their niece to the future king? There’s no faster way to climb than that.”

Declan had mentioned that his fiancée came with a hefty dowry, and the kingdom was in a lot of debt. It had probably been easy for the Greenmantles to convince him.

“So,” said Ronan. “Plan?”

“Plan,” he said. “Your brother hasn’t married Ashley yet, so she’s still living with the Greenmantles. We break into their house and see what we can find. Any incriminating evidence.”

“That sounds pretty risky.” But Ronan lived for risky, which the soothsayer seemed to understand. He handed Ronan a mask, a plain white one like the soothsayer had worn the night before.

“In case they would recognize you,” he said.

The soothsayer knew where the house was—only a few blocks away, on one of the broad, bright streets on the east side of town where all the wealthiest families lived. Ronan had been to several horrifically boring parties on this street. The soothsayer led him around the back of one of the largest houses, a five-story brick monstrosity. There was a door that seemed to lead to a cellar, but there was a big padlock on it. The soothsayer knelt, and in less than a minute, had picked the lock.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Ronan asked, impressed.

“You know my father wasn’t exactly an upstanding member of society,” said the soothsayer before he climbed down into the cellar.

Ronan followed—carefully, because the stairs were unsteady. “Um, no, I didn’t know that.”

“Oh.” The soothsayer paused and looked around the room. “Oh, no, of course not. I think the door is there—”

They picked their way carefully through the pitch-black darkness of the cellar until Ronan had a hand on a doorknob and opened it to reveal rough wooden stairs. They tiptoed up and found themselves in a kitchen. Thankfully empty.

“Do you know where to go?” Ronan whispered.

The soothsayer shook his head but gestured to the only visible hallway. Servant’s quarters, and another staircase. They kept proceeding this way, creeping up endless flights of stairs, trying not to make any noise, bumping into each other because Ronan was staying a little too close. Finally they reached what seemed to be the main living quarters—a long hallway of bedrooms.

“Should we split up?” the soothsayer whispered.

“I don’t want to be alone if someone busts our asses for breaking in,” said Ronan.

So they stayed together, listening at each bedroom door before opening it. The first two were sterile-looking and empty—guest rooms, surely. The next one was obviously a woman’s, dresses strewn on the bed. They paused here and looked around for a few minutes but found nothing more than liquor bottles and lipstick. The soothsayer snatched one of the bottles anyway and put it in the knapsack he carried. “We’ll test this,” he said. “To see if she was practicing her poisoning skills on someone else.”

The next room looked more like someone’s personal office. They went through the doors of the gigantic desk, finding a lot of business correspondence but nothing helpful. The soothsayer went over to a bookcase and peered into the cabinet at the bottom of it. “Oh, this is it,” he said.

Ronan didn’t have time to look before there were voices in the hallway, clearly pausing just outside the office room. The soothsayer ran behind the desk, ducking down so he was hidden, and pulled Ronan with him. They were pressed close together, and Ronan felt the heat of the soothsayer’s breath on his face.

“If they come in they’ll find us,” Ronan whispered. The soothsayer clamped a hand over Ronan’s mouth, and Ronan fought the urge to bite, like he would with one of his brothers.

The door opened, and someone strode into the room. A male voice called out, “You thought you heard _this_ door?”

Ronan shot the soothsayer a look, a _this is all over_ kind of look.

Farther away, a woman—not Ashley—called back, “One of the ones on that side of the hallway.”

“Oh, well everything’s normal here,” said the man, leaving and closing the door behind him.

The soothsayer sighed with relief and moved his hand. Barely audibly, he whispered, “Let’s stay where we are for a minute. Hopefully they won’t keep looking for long.”

But minutes felt like hours when you were hiding from potential murderers. It hadn’t actually occurred to Ronan before now that they might’ve put themselves in mortal danger with this little errand. He could feel his pulse rising, mostly from fear but possibly also from the fact that the soothsayer—who was just as handsome in daylight as at the ball—now had his hand braced on Ronan’s thigh. Just for balance, obviously.

After an indeterminate length of time, the soothsayer said, “Maybe we’ll be all right now.” He let go of Ronan’s leg—bit of a shame—and crawled over to the cabinet he’d been searching before. “Come look at this,” he said.

Ronan crawled over too. There were some normal things in the cabinet—inkwells, notebooks—but there was also one shelf lined entirely with tiny bottles of poison.

“We’re taking all of them,” the soothsayer whispered.

“Won’t they notice?”

“Who cares if they do, as long as we’re out of here first?” He slipped the bottles one by one into his bag, and they clinked against each other a bit. “All right,” he said, “how do we get out of here?”

“The way we came?” said Ronan.

The soothsayer turned clever blue eyes on him. There was a spark of audacity in them. “It’d be easier to just walk out the front door.”

“If we don’t get caught…”

“Exactly.”

He wasn’t wrong—the front door was only two flights down instead of three. First they peeked into the hallway—empty. They peeked down the first flight of stairs—empty. They made it down the second flight, too, with no problems, only to come face-to-face with a maid in the front hallway. “Who are you?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

The soothsayer was cool as ice. “We had a delivery for Mrs. Greenmantle.”

The maid stared at Ronan’s mask and said, “I didn’t let you in. How did you get in?”

“The butler let us in,” said the soothsayer. “We’ll be on our way now.” He was already opening the door and slipping through it. Ronan followed suit, and the maid was yelling behind them. “Run!” said the soothsayer.

So they sprinted down a side street, and the soothsayer made a few sharp turns into smaller and smaller alleyways. Ronan struggled to keep up. He could hear the bottles of poison still clinking together and realized they might all be broken before they could be examined.

They ran past the market square, where they’d met that morning, and down another couple of streets before the soothsayer stopped abruptly. Ronan nearly smacked into him from behind.

They were standing in front of Adam’s magic shop. “Come here,” said the soothsayer. He barreled through the front door like he had a million times.

The feisty girl was at the desk again. She looked up when they came in. “What’s wrong?” she said to the soothsayer, as if she knew him. Maybe the whole magical community knew each other, except for Ronan.

“If anyone comes looking for us, we were never here,” said the soothsayer. He pulled Ronan behind the desk and through a door, into a back room. All Ronan could think was, _is Adam here? Am I about to see him?_

The soothsayer took a deep breath, then smiled at Ronan and said, “Safe. For now. Let’s see what we’re working with, shall we?”

This back room was clearly where the witches or whoever owned this place grew their herbs and brewed their potions to sell. The soothsayer put his bag on the long, wooden table in the middle of the room and started pulling out bottles. They were miraculously all intact. A few had labels—the soothsayer read them, mumbling under his breath. “Arsenic, nightshade…”

There was no one else in this back room, and Ronan thought about how easily the soothsayer had just walked in, how the girl hadn’t been surprised at all, and—

“Do you work here?” he asked.

“Mmm, yes,” said the soothsayer, still concentrating. He had pushed up his sleeves and was frowning at the bottle he held. There was a little furrow in between his brows.

And Ronan remembered a boy holding his hand in the gardens when he was 10 years old, concentrating so hard on reading Ronan’s future.

“You’re Adam,” he said.

The soothsayer didn’t reply, so Ronan slammed a hand down on the table. “You are him, aren’t you? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

The soothsayer—Adam—looked up, surprised. “I thought you’d have figured it out by now.”

Should he have figured it out? Had he been really stupid about this?

“Why would you make me guess when you could’ve just told me?” Ronan demanded.

Adam rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk, _Gansey._ ”

Ronan didn’t have anything to say to that.

Adam changed the subject. “I’m going to test this liquor bottle with the same potion I used last night to see if there are any traces of poison. If we can convince your brother to let us test any more of his drinks, I have another powder that would let us match the poison she’s using on him to one of these.” He gestured to the stolen bottles.

“My brother isn’t going to be thrilled that we broke into his fiancée’s house,” said Ronan. He hadn’t been thinking about that—he hadn’t cared—but it was Declan even going to listen to them at all?

“He’ll be thrilled if you save him from a murder plot,” said Adam. He turned his attention to the liquor bottle again. Again, it took nearly ten minutes for the droplets inside the bottle to turn that sickly green, but they did. “More proof,” said Adam. He went to one of the many cupboards in the room and pulled out paper. He sat down at the table and started writing.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m writing a note of explanation to your brother,” said Adam. “He’ll be less annoyed with you if he thinks all this was my idea.” In a minute, he folded the paper over and sealed it. He put it in the knapsack, along with the liquor bottle and one of the poison bottles. “Take all this to your brother,” he said, handing Ronan the bag. “My note explains everything. If he’ll allow me to come to the palace again, I’ll do more tests. You can write to me to tell me what he says.”

Just like that, the morning’s adventure was over. Adam kicked him out—nicely, but clearly wanting him gone. Ronan trudged back to the palace, not eager to have to deal with Declan again, and not sure what to think about finally meeting Adam again. About spending so much time with him and not even realizing who it was. He felt like he’d wasted an opportunity there. But what would he have done with it if he’d known? Declared his affections or something? That wasn’t something he could imagine himself doing.

Back in his own room, he decided he really didn’t want to face his brother just yet, so he handed off the bag to a page and told him, “Take this to Declan, and bring me back his reply.”

But Declan came himself, of course. He burst into Ronan’s room half an hour later, without knocking. _Oh, so it’s all right when_ you _do it,_ Ronan thought moodily. He’d spent the last half hour sitting at his desk, slumped over, head resting on his arms, trying not to think about blue-eyed boys or bottles of poison.

He and Declan just looked at each other for a moment, until finally his brother said, “You broke into the Greenmantles’ house?”

Ronan nodded, bumping his chin on the desk.

Declan sighed and sat down on the bed. “Your soothsayer friend is nothing if not persistent.”

“He considers it his patriotic duty,” said Ronan, only half kidding.

“I suppose this evidence is somewhat compelling.” Declan was holding Adam’s note. Even from afar, Ronan recognized that handwriting. “There isn’t a good reason for them to have—” he looked at the note again—“ten different kinds of poison hidden in their office. But that doesn’t prove they’re planning to use it on me.”

“Fine, believe it or don’t,” said Ronan, sitting up. “It’s only your _life_ we’re talking about here.”

Declan was wearing his usual unimpressed expression. “What do you propose I do?”

“Have her questioned,” said Ronan.

Declan was silent for a little while. Finally, he said, “All right. I will.”

-

Ronan was sprawled out on his bed that afternoon; the day had grown hot, and he was half-asleep. Noah flitted in at some point and sat down beside him. (Was he actually sitting? Was he making contact with the bed? Ronan wasn’t sure how corporeal Noah really was.)

“He’s done it,” Noah announced.

“Who’s done what?” Ronan mumbled.

“Declan. He’s got a couple of his advisors questioning Ashley right now.”

Ronan threw his arm over his eyes. “Good.”

Things continued in precisely this way for the next two days—Ronan did absolutely nothing productive, and he didn’t see Ashley or his brother at all. He just heard things from other people. His younger brother Matthew, a perpetual ray of sunshine, was actually troubled enough about all this that he sought Ronan out to talk about it. Ronan could pull himself together for Matthew. He told him about fifty times that everything would be okay. “We caught her, right? Dec’s going to be fine. Just has to find a different wife.”

Matthew looked up at him with wide, sad eyes, and Ronan wanted to smash something. “But his heart must be broken,” Matthew said.

Ronan didn’t say, _he doesn’t have a heart_. He didn’t say, _he was only marrying her for the money_. He said, “Maybe you should go try to cheer him up.” So Matthew did.

Gansey came to see him next, to tell him that Ashley had finally confessed. Apparently Gansey had been one of her inquisitors. “It was incredibly stressful,” he said. “I don’t know why your brother thought I should question her. A foreign prince. Maybe for objectivity? In any case, she’s insisting that none of it was her idea, but she admits now that she did carry out her family’s orders to poison Declan’s drinks.”

Ronan wasn’t surprised, but it was somehow a little worse to hear it confirmed. He thought about Adam, the night of the ball, saying that the other two princes should be careful. Ronan had never really worried for his life. Should he? He’d always figured that he would self-destruct before anyone could hurt him.

-

The next day, Declan summoned everyone important at court to his audience chamber. His advisors, the visiting dignitaries, Ronan, Matthew, and their mother. He looked tired, like he’d hardly been sleeping. He confirmed what Gansey had said, and what Ronan already knew. “Our fiancée was involved in an attempt against our life.”

Ronan hated when he used the royal we, even if it was expected in moments like this.

“Fortunately, she’s been stopped before any serious damage was done. The court doctors have examined us and assured us that we will be fine. We’ve had nothing more than a stomachache from the poison we ingested.”

The assembled crowd murmured to each other a bit.

“Our fiancée—” He didn’t say her name— “has been imprisoned pending our sentence against her. Our advisors will consult on this—” he nodded to them— “to determine the best course of action. She has identified her co-conspirators, and our agents looking for them at this very moment. We don’t believe there’s anything more to fear, but we will remain vigilant.”

That was it. Declan had said all this as if it was routine and not particularly worrying. He dismissed them.

-

Ronan woke up in the morning with a burst of energy he hadn’t felt in days. He had decided that he was going to see Adam again. That’s what he’d wanted for the past week anyway.

He went to the magic shop. The girl from before was there, sitting behind the counter. Adam was behind her, looking over her shoulder at the book she held. Neither of them looked up until Ronan came a little closer. Adam looked surprised and the girl smirked at Ronan like this time she knew who he was. “Can we help you?” she said, overly sweet.

Ronan couldn’t look anywhere but at Adam. “I’m just here to speak with Adam.”

“Come back with me,” he said, so Ronan came around the counter, exchanging wary glances with the girl, and followed Adam into a back room.

“Is everything all right?” Adam asked. “Was there any more trouble with Ashley?”

Ronan was a little disappointed that that’s what Adam wanted to talk about first. “No, she confessed, and she’s locked up.”

Adam nodded. “I’ve heard the rumors in town. Everyone’s talking about it. The future queen, a murderess…”

“You did your country a great service,” said Ronan as irreverently as possible.

Adam smiled but then turned businesslike. “Did you need my help with something else, then?”

Ronan hadn’t thought this far ahead. He shrugged, uncomfortable. “Just… came to see how you are.”

“I’m fine,” said Adam, amused. “As you can see.”

Ronan nodded and wanted to explode because he felt all wrong.

“Anything else, then?”

“You should come live at the palace again,” Ronan blurted. He hadn’t known he was going to say that until he said it.

Adam, still smiling and amused said, “What for?”

“To be my friend,” said Ronan; then he blushed and wished he could take it back.

Adam’s smile disappeared. He seemed to be thinking about that. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… Life at the palace is boring. You’re interesting.”

“Oh, so you literally want me to come and be your friend and entertain you.” Adam was now giving him raised eyebrows and amicable incredulity.

Ronan shrugged again.

Like talking to a small child, Adam said, “I have to work. I have to make a living, to have a place to live and food to eat.”

“But you wouldn’t have to worry about that at the palace,” said Ronan.

He saw a flash of anger in Adam’s eyes. “Do you really think I’d come and just live off your family and not contribute anything? I don’t really count being your friend as contributing to the functioning of the palace or the kingdom.”

Ronan didn’t have an immediate answer to that. “It’s just, life’s dull,” he mumbled. “Writing to you, and everything that night at the ball, was so different—”

Adam shook his head, frustrated now and retreating somewhere Ronan couldn’t follow. “You’re a prince. You have the whole world at your fingertips. If you’re bored, you have no one to blame but yourself. You could be out there doing good— helping the poor, advancing diplomacy, _anything,_ and instead you just sit around feeling sorry for yourself. You can’t spend your whole life hiding just because you miss your father—”

That was too far. “Don’t talk about my father,” said Ronan, angry. For a moment they just stood and looked at each other. Then Ronan turned and went back the way he’d come, through the door, past the now-curious girl, through the shop, and out onto the street.

He went down to the river. He didn’t want to go home. He lay under one of the trees where Adam liked to sleep, and he tried not to think about anything at all.

-

Ronan didn’t see his brothers at all that day, nor did he hear anything else about Ashley. That had something to do with the fact that he refused to leave his room once he got home.

The next day, however, Declan sent for him. This happened every so often, and it was usually to say something like “I will never let you go anywhere again if you don’t start taking your tutoring seriously” or “you’re disgracing the family by lighting firecrackers in the garden every night.”

This time, Declan was sitting behind the big desk in his antechamber, hands folded, looking serious. Ronan contemplated turning around and leaving and accepting the consequences later. He didn’t. He sat in the chair that had been placed on the other side of the desk, just for him.

Declan skipped pleasantries. “I wanted to thank you for your help with the Ashley situation. For bringing it to my attention and for stopping her.”

Ronan shrugged. They didn’t talk to each other like this, ever.

“You realize that you and your friend saved my life?” Declan asked seriously.

“Obviously,” said Ronan.

“The ‘I don’t care about anything’ act doesn’t work when you’ve just proven that you do.” His brother looked _almost_ amused. Ronan hadn’t known Declan had a sense of humor anymore.

He tried to change the subject a little. “What’re you going to do with her?”

“I’m sending her to live at the See—” a prison fortress on an island. Impossible to escape. Possibly a fate worse than death, Ronan thought. “We’ve caught her uncle, Colin, but her aunt’s still on the run.” Declan said all this stoically, as if it had very little at all to do with him.

“Doesn’t it bother you at all that your fiancée tried to kill you?” Ronan asked him. Even if the question provoked annoyance, that’d be better than no emotion at all.

Declan looked down and started fiddling with the papers on his desk. “It does… But there’s no love lost between us. Speaking of love…”

Love was the last thing he wanted to discuss with Declan.

“Why don’t you tell me more about this soothsayer friend of yours?”

“What does that have to do with love?” Ronan snapped.

Declan just looked at him. So apparently Ronan’s feelings were pathetically obvious to everyone.

“He used to work here at the palace,” said Ronan, trying to force nonchalance. “We were friends when we were kids. We got along because we were both magical. Then he came here and told me about the plot against you and asked me to help. That’s all.” Declan didn’t need to know about the letters or Ronan’s visits to town.

“That’s all?”

Ronan nodded and poised himself to make a break for it.

“I saw you dancing with him at the ball.”

“We were just keeping an eye on Ashley.”

“I’ve often wondered if perhaps you prefer…”

Ronan leapt up and blurted, “Always a pleasure, Dec. I have to go.” He made his escape.

-

That night, he was tired enough to sleep deeply. He dreamed about Adam, when they were children, in the garden. He remembered this. It was later that summer, after Ronan had conjured the witch-hazel seeds, and he and Adam had become friends. Adam had been working in the garden all day, and his mother had scolded him for his dirty hands when he came in for supper. She’d made him scrub them until they were raw. He’d showed them to Ronan that night, dry and cracked. Ronan had conjured him a cream to help soothe them.

Adult-Ronan saw child-Ronan asleep with the jar of cream, newly created, and because this was only a memory, adult-Ronan plucked it out of his hands.

When he woke, he considered what to do with it. He thought about sending it to Adam with another letter, but he’d never been particularly eloquent, and what he wanted to say would be impossible to put on paper.

He sent the gift to the magic shop with Gansey instead, so Gansey could admire the feisty girl a bit more. Gansey came back gushing about her. “Her name is Blue—isn’t that unusual? She isn’t magical, but she makes other people’s gifts more powerful. I’ve never heard of such a thing, have you? I tried to ask her to take a walk with me, and then she lectured me about my privilege and how time moves differently for the working class, and she made me think about being a prince in an entirely new way—”

Ronan vividly remembered Adam lecturing him in the same manner. He kicked the nearest available object—his desk chair—then heard a yelp. Noah ~popped into view and threw Ronan a wounded look. “I’m sitting here!”

Ronan tipped the chair, and Noah tumbled into the floor, after which he ignored Ronan completely and started giving Gansey tips on how to win Blue’s admiration. Eventually, Gansey tried to pull Ronan back into the conversation— “Do you have any thoughts on the subject?”

Noah, still peeved, said, “Ronan isn’t any more successful at this than you are.”

-

The days dragged along, slower than ever. Nothing was ever going to be as exciting as the night of the ball and the morning after. No more letters came. Of course they didn’t. He knew his own talent for alienating people.

He didn’t want to see anyone. But he couldn’t bear to stay inside. But he couldn’t bear to look at the witch-hazel or sit in the grottoes. Everything reminded him of that night. So instead he went to parts of the garden that he didn’t like quite as much. He sat by the fountains and stuck his feet in. He lay under a grove of umbrella pines and tried not to think about anything. Only Noah ever found him, because Noah knew everything. He’d sit beside Ronan and say things like, “Why don’t you write to him again?” And then when Ronan made it clear that he never wanted to talk about Adam again, Noah switched to, “Why don’t you go for a ride? Why don’t you go into town? Why don’t you run away and join the circus?”

He didn’t go back into the grottoes for days and days, until finally one afternoon it was too hot to be anywhere else. He retreated to the shade and cool stone of the grottoes. His favorite one was halfway down the bridge. He lay on the curved stone bench, on his back, knees bent, arms behind his head. He stayed there for an hour and, for once, managed to clear his mind completely.

He was half asleep by the time he heard someone walking along the bridge. They were coming towards him, but he wasn’t much bothered. He’d hidden here a hundred times without being found. But then the footsteps stopped, and he felt someone’s presence nearby. Then, a voice— “In daylight, the grottoes look more like I remembered.”

Ronan knew the voice—of course he did. He didn’t open his eyes. He knew he wasn’t dreaming, but he still didn’t want to be disappointed.

Silence. He heard the person move closer still and sit down near his feet.

“Not going to talk to me?” Adam asked.

Ronan had been trying to think of something to say. “What are you doing here?” He sounded more hostile than he intended.

Adam let out a little huff. Ronan couldn’t tell if that meant he was annoyed or amused. He dared to open one eye. Adam looked somewhere in between the two.

“Your brother summoned me,” said Adam dryly. “He made a proposal similar to yours.”

Ronan closed his eyes again to ward off embarrassment. “Declan wants you to move to the palace and be his friend?”

Another huff, like the first one. “Not quite. At first he wanted me to look into his future. Then he proposed that I move to the palace to be the official court soothsayer. To serve on his Council.”

Ronan tried not to betray any interest in that. “He must’ve liked what you saw in his future.”

“He did.” Adam sounded pleased about that. “He wanted to know if he would ever marry. And he will. Her name is Jordan. Now it’s just a matter of finding her.”

“Had no idea Declan was so sentimental.”

“I suppose anyone would be worried about marriage after their last fiancée tried to kill them.” Adam was quiet for a moment, then said, “I asked for some time to consider his offer, but how could I refuse? It’s quite an honor for someone like me. And I know the magic shop can spare me.”

“Someone like you,” Ronan said. He sounded contemptuous—he didn’t mean to—his contempt was entirely directed at the idea that Adam wasn’t worthy of the position. So he said, “Declan would be lucky to have you.” He sat up, didn’t look at Adam, and said, “Don’t worry. If you live here, I won’t bother you.”

“Even if I wanted you to?” Adam asked.

Ronan tried to calculate how quickly he could escape from this conversation. “Why would you?”

“Because I’m sure my duties wouldn’t take up all of my time. And because of this.” He held something out. The jar of hand cream. “I’d forgotten, but you conjured this for me before, didn’t you? Years ago.”

Ronan nodded reluctantly.

“I’m surprised you remembered,” said Adam.

“I’d forgotten too,” Ronan mumbled. “I noticed your hands were chapped. When we were dancing.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” said Adam, in the manner of making some kind of concession.

“So you’re willing to be my friend—because of _that_?”

“Ronan.” Adam’s voice was soft. “We’re already friends.”

Finally, Ronan looked over. Adam was smiling at him. He hadn’t, the night of the ball. He had at the magic shop, before they argued. Ronan knew he’d go to ridiculous lengths for more of those smiles.

"Your brother said something else interesting to me,” Adam said. “He said that he thought my presence at the palace would increase your happiness. He said it just like that. So formal.” Another smile. “I said that I was pleased you considered me a friend. And he said that wasn’t what he meant.” Adam slid a little closer on the bench. “Do you know what he meant?”

Ronan was paralyzed, and he could feel his cheeks burning. He stared straight ahead. He hadn’t told Declan a _thing_. Curse Declan for always assuming he knew everything. Curse him for being right.

Adam moved nearer still. His hand, braced on the bench, was so close. Ronan thought about taking it. Didn’t, of course.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you the last time we spoke,” Adam said. “Especially about your father.”

Ronan still didn’t look at him. So Adam felt guilty. About snapping. But more so about Ronan’s unrequited feelings for him. What Ronan remembered about dancing with him—more vividly than Adam’s lovely, chapped hands—was that Adam hadn’t wanted to.

He couldn’t put words to what he felt and didn’t want to. But he had to respond somehow. “Whatever Declan meant,” he said, low, “don’t worry about it. I won’t ever bother you about it. He’s planning to marry me off anyway.”

“Is he?” said Adam. He moved away a bit. “Has he found someone?”

Ronan shrugged. “Dunno. Probably.”

Lightly, Adam said, “Then I’ll just have to duel them for your hand.”

That made Ronan look. Adam didn’t look angry or disgusted or sorry. He was still hovering between amused and annoyed. “Why would you do something dumb like that?” Ronan asked.

“Because I don’t want anyone else to do this.” Adam leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek. His lips were cool.

Before Ronan could process that rather astounding turn of events, Adam moved to kiss him on the mouth—only he stopped a bit short. And Ronan had a moment of panic, of _what do I do?_ Because Adam was very clearly waiting for him to close the gap.

He didn’t.

So Adam pulled away, face flushed—with embarrassment, not desire. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I think I may have misunderstood.”

They were still close together, and his eyes were so blue. Deep-ocean blue, depthless. “You didn’t,” said Ronan. He sounded stupidly breathless for someone who hadn’t been kissed.

Adam frowned. “Then…”

Ronan closed the gap. Kissing Adam was like racing down the riverbanks. Exhilarating. He could fall, he could drown in the river. He could drown in kisses.

And there was something about the way his arms wrapped around Adam, the way their bodies fit together, like something that had been crooked finally sliding into place. A sense of rightness, a sense of finality. _This. This is how it was always supposed to be._

-

This is how the days went after Adam moved to the palace: Ronan was still expected to study with his tutors in the morning. Adam was usually busy then anyway, sitting in on council meetings—for the first time in his life, Ronan actually attended a couple of them—or telling various courtiers’ fortunes. He’d become very popular at court thanks to his gift, but he didn’t seem to care about the attention. He did his work dutifully and then came to find Ronan in the afternoon. They went riding with Gansey and took naps beside the Gold Tower, or they stayed in the gardens, and Adam made the scraggly corners of it beautiful again. Ronan complained about his schoolwork, and Adam laughed at him, but then he’d let Ronan hold his hand, and then, when they were completely alone, they’d kiss again.

Sometimes they sat in the shadows of the same grotto where they’d hidden on the night of the ball.

Adam hardly ever asked for anything, but Ronan had dreamed him things for his new room at the palace—plants and pillows and random decorations like a ceramic satyr girl. He’d dreamed iris bulbs when Adam said he liked purple irises.

But one day, lying in the grotto, Adam finally asked for something. “Would you dream me some lights to string up in here? Like the ones you dreamed for the witch-hazel tree?”

Ronan remembered him mentioning the lights in his first letter. “It’s still kind of amazing,” he said, quietly and more earnestly than usual, “that you remember those lights.”

“I thought about you a lot,” said Adam, eyes closed, head thrown back carelessly—because, finally, he was letting himself be careless sometimes. “Living in the palace seemed like some kind of fantastic dream—like it couldn’t have possibly happened. And you—you were the most unbelievable part of it all. Your magic and your niceness. You never treated me like I was less than you.”

No one ever really said that Ronan was nice. “You aren’t less than me,” he said.

He closed his eyes so he could dream Adam some lights. He awoke some indeterminate amount of time later. The shadows outside had moved—it was almost dusk—and Adam was sitting on the other side of the grotto reading, hair haloed in the sunbeams drifting through the window. Ronan was frozen for a moment, as he always was after conjuring something, and he was holding a string of lights.

Before he could sit up, the lights escaped him and drifted up to the ceiling on their own. Adam watched in amazement, and Ronan watched him.

“How’d they do that?” Adam asked.

“I made them that way so we wouldn’t have to bother with hanging them up,” said Ronan.

As soon as they reached the ceiling, they illuminated themselves, casting light and shadows all over the grotto. “Amazing,” said Adam. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Ronan. “Now do something for me.”

Adam snorted. “What, Your highness?”

“Tell my future.”

“Easy,” Adam said immediately. “You’re going to spend your life dreaming things up for a soothsayer who moonlights as a gardener.”

Ronan closed his eyes again and tried to hide a smile. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come chat with me [on tumblr!](https://magicienetreveur.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Title from Sweet Thing by Van Morrison.


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